


Infallible.

by SubmissiveKylo (prancing_queen)



Series: Walking Disasters. [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Be patient with me I haven't written fic since 2014, M/M, My tiny gay hands are rusty, inspired by black mirror s02ep01
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:11:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5867080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prancing_queen/pseuds/SubmissiveKylo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I hate and I love.</i><br/><i>Perhaps you ask why I do this? I do not know.</i><br/><i>But I feel it happen and I am tormented."</i><br/>— <i>Catullus 85.</i><br/>Failure was never an option.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I hate you." "—I know."

**Author's Note:**

> I've said it in the tags, but I'll say it again; this is loosely inspired by the Black Mirror episode 'Be Right Back.'  
> You don't have to have seen it, but hey. It's a citation.

> _"Fearless together, you said;_
> 
> _'We'll get through this together.'_
> 
> _When you fly won't you, won't you take me too?_
> 
> _In this world, so cruel._
> 
> _I think you're so cool."_
> 
> _— Coldplay, 'Birds'_
> 
>  

* * *

_"Find him. Bring him to me."_

That final order was the tolling of a church's bell at midnight.

In the First Order, failure had never been an option, and for Hux, he'd all but signed his own death warrant with a flourish.

It was an awful thought, but similarly, there was a certain amount of peace to be taken from it. He felt that he could finally breathe again; there was no uncertainty to be held, the gallows had already been constructed over his head, and what would be, would be. Destiny was not something that could be outrun, and as his breath had clouded in front of his face trudging through the snow to find the fallen knight, Hux came to reflect that perhaps this had been his fate all along. What of Ren's was yet to be seen, and as bitterly dissonant as the pair were with one another, the general couldn't help but feel a twinge of bitterness that it would be something he would not be granted the ability to witness.

When he'd finally located Kylo's unconscious form, with the help of the tracking implement he'd so thoughtfully had implanted in the other man's belt, the first thing he did was sink to his knees beside him, peel off a glove and feel for a pulse. It was faint beneath his fingertips, but still there, light and fast. His face was a mess of blood and ragged edges, and as Hux took the other man's chin between his fingers and inspected the damage, he felt an indistinct ghost of relief that the damage appeared only to be cosmetic. It would hurt, and most definitely scar, but he'd be fine.

Pushing himself to his feet, he'd called for an immediate evacuation, the ground underfoot trembling as the unstable power within continued to tear jagged cracks through the surface of StarKiller. Perhaps this was to be Kylo's fate, he thinks as the harsh arctic winds bite at his bare fingers which are streaked scarlet with the younger man's blood. Perhaps his destiny too is to implode beneath the destructive force of his own power.

The flowering patch of Kylo's blood left in the snow is the last thing he permits himself to log to memory, as the evacuation team hits the scene, with Phasma at it's helm. Hux doesn't have to say much; the orders are given before he can even think them; though he insists that Ren be entrusted to him. "Supreme Leader's orders." He'd explained stiffly, and though Phasma's helmet had obscured her facial expression from him, her brief hesitation in giving the confirmation order was enough to express her open disbelief.

As they'd fled in the final seconds of the base's life, a deceptive calm descended. Kylo's head rested heavily on his thighs, and a great shuddering sigh seemed to escape StarKiller. His fingers smoothed back the dark hair matted to the knight's cheeks and temples, and the planet gave a great roar, like that of a dying beast. The light was instantaneous and blinding, and compulsively he turns Ren's head away from it, his own hand raising to protect his eyes. Across from him, Phasma stood, her helmet finally removed, and not for the first time, Hux futilely wonders exactly _how_   she managed never to have helmet hair. She was impeccable, not a single golden hair out of place, though there was a streak of something black on her left cheek.

Ash, he thinks. Or perhaps the blood of one of her troops. 

They don't speak for a long time, maintaining a sober silence that is only broken by the thrum of the ships engines, and the quiet groans of the wounded or dying. Hux's gloved hand still rests gently against the unconscious knight's cheek, and Phasma's steel grey eyes flick with calculating curiosity between the pair.

"What happened?" She finally asks, her tone blunt and virtually emotionless.

"I'm unsure. But I can hazard a guess that this is the result of a clash with the Jakku scavenger." Hux replies, maintaining a steady eye contact with her. "He will be unstable as a result of his failure. And given his injuries, I would say that recovering will take some time. The Supreme Leader will not be pleased, but Kylo will heal, and his training will proceed as planned." His tone breaks off into something distant, and he doesn't have to explain the nature of his own fate. "He'll need guidance."

In the silence that follows, something unspoken passes between the two military commanders, and Phasma nods imperceptibly in understanding. The ship trembles as a piece of debris hurtles past, and Hux looks away. There's nothing left to say. And pity is a language foreign to them both.

 

* * *

 

In the days that follow, Kylo regains consciousness three times.

The first time he's delusional, and the pain he awakens in brings forth an agonized moan that causes all of Hux's hair to stand on end. His eyes thankfully do not open, but the way he moves and cries out calls for him to be restrained and sedated, though not before he force-destroys half the room in the process. Hux stays with him from then, and Phasma does not object; merely reminds him to sleep, and to eat when he can.

 

The second time, he's a little more lucid, and as his dark eyes flutter open and closed, like a butterflies wings warming to the suns rays, he mumbles something incoherent, his drug clouded gaze falling upon the General sat statue like across from him. Another groan rips itself from his lips, and his eyes drift shut as Hux leans over and increases the sedatives on the drip at his side.

"I hate you." Kylo mumbles weakly, tone becoming steadily more dreamlike as the drugs took effect, and lulled him back into unconsciousness.

The last thing he saw was the dry ghost of a smile tugging at the general's lips, and his soft, whispered response.

"—I know."

 

When he awakens the third time, Hux is no longer there; Phasma sits in the place the General had occupied.

He has no idea how long he's been unconscious, and though his head feels foggy, it's still far clearer than it had been the last time he'd awoken.

His mouth is dry, and his voice sounds rough to his ears as he forces his lips to shape the words sitting heavily on his tongue.

"Where's the General?"

The question he doesn't even have to think about.

Hux is always there, grating on his nerves, or lingering like an oppressive shadow.

It's strange not to have him there.

 

Phasma doesn't reply immediately. She wears that same curious expression that she'd worn when watching Hux hold the knight's cheek against his palm in their escape; her lips purse, as if coming to a conclusion that isn't immediately satisfying to her, and she rises wordlessly to her feet.

"Phasma. Where is Hux?" This time his question is insistent, and an awful feeling knots itself between his ribs as the captain merely looks at him like she doesn't fully understand him.

"The General is dead." She replies bluntly, her tone as emotionless and matter-of-fact as Hux's would have been had he been there in that moment.

It takes a moment for it fully to sink in. The very notion seems laughable to him, and for a moment, he thinks he hears himself laugh aloud. Hux would outlive even the force itself _just_ to aggravate him. But as Phasma continues to simply stand there and watch him, her expression still devoid of any indicator that this was in any way a joke, Ren comes to the sickening realization of exactly _what_  he's been told.

The air in the room seems to leave, and his head spins sickeningly as every single thing in the room quakes.

Hux is gone.

His opposite.

His _enemy._

So oh Gods  _why does it hurt?_

Time seems to stand still in that singular moment, and it's perhaps one of the most peaceful things he's experienced.

Then he begins to scream.

It takes six troopers to restrain him this time, and double the dosage to finally bring him under control, and all the time Ren fights it.

 

He doesn't want to sleep, he wants to rage and scream until his voice is gone and the whole galaxy feels the same pain that he does.

As the sedative slowly takes hold, he becomes aware of the dampness on his cheeks, and he stares up at Phasma who still stands at his side, her gloved hands resting on his arm to keep him still.

"Everything will be alright." She says, and for once, there's a light of  tentative understanding shining behind her intelligent grey eyes.

The reassurance is sickening to him, and as the darkness clouds his vision, and his eyes slide shut against his will, he musters up the last of the energy he has to formulate a response.

Two harsh, little words that succeed in being just as grief-stricken as they are angry.

"Fuck you."


	2. Hello, Ren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much filler.  
> The next chapter (I hope) will make up for this complete mess.

>   _“There was means to form a lie._  
>  _Darling, this is our last goodbye._
> 
> _Walk out on me, walk out on me._  
>  _I'll see you for the last time.”_  
>  _—Walk Out On Me, Courtney Love._

* * *

 

For Ren, the next few weeks pass in a monotonous blur.

The Finalizer felt empty without its general and after a while, he finds he can't stand it.

Nobody speaks of Hux's absence, and that, to Kylo, seems like a bigger insult than he can bear.

It's personal, and as he so desperately tells himself, Hux hadn't been _no-one,_  he was the general; an official ranked virtually on the same level as he himself. He couldn't be the only one who felt this grief.

 

"He was expendable. We all are." Phasma had calmly pointed out when he quietly broached the subject with her one evening in the training facilities.

He'd taken a moment to think on that, and then left without another word, a dark towel slung over one pale shoulder.

The faultless logic of it was so despairingly offensive he didn't know what to say or do to argue against it.

 _'Hux wasn't_ _expendable,_ 'he tells himself firmly as he brushes back the hair stuck to the back of his neck with sweat; but even as he thinks it, the words ring hollow and false.

 

By the time Ren brings himself to finally enter what had been Hux's quarters, he discovers that it had already been cleaned out. No trace of him remained to be seen.

There hadn't been much of him to begin with; both of them lived in ways which were impersonal, and materialistic goods seemed pointless to them both. But it pained him fundamentally to see all evidence of him so cleanly removed. There were no articles of clothing in the closet, no cosmetics in the bathroom, and all the weaponry he'd stashed beneath the mattress and underneath the insides of cabinets and drawers for protection was gone.

Even the dent and scuff mark on the wall where he'd thrown a glass paperweight at the general's head after a particularly heated argument had been buffed out. It was as if Hux had never existed in these four walls, and for a short while, Kylo manages to convince himself that he'd invented Hux.

He'd never been real, he was simply some aspect of himself that he'd never been able to come to terms with.

A conscience, but far more annoying.

 

But then the General's gloves had been left for him in his quarters, and he'd realized that this fragile reality he'd constructed for himself was just that, a false construction.

The grief he'd managed to repress rose and crushed the oxygen from his lungs once again, and for a dizzying moment, he feels weak, and scarily vulnerable. It was as if all that he was had been scrubbed away, and as he continues to stand and stare from the doorway at those two seemingly innocent articles of clothing resting against the starched white pillows of his bed, he feels a twinge of fear. 

Where they had come from was not important to him, what mattered was that they were _there_.

They were real; Hux had been real, his pain was justified.

Taking them tentatively between his hands, Kylo lets out a soft breath of relief; the leather was smooth and cool to the touch, and he doesn't even have to think about it as he lifts up the top corner of his mattress and hides them beneath it.

Snoke could take him away, but he would not remove all evidence of him. Not from Ren.

It was a small victory, but he'll take what he can.

 

The days drag into weeks, and as Kylo's strength slowly begins to return, he throws himself into a training regime so vigorous that he doesn't have the capacity to think about Hux, or how empty the bridge is without him and his snide comments.

The Jakku girl plagues his nightmares when he does not dream of Hux, and he wakes up gasping for breath that won't come, his hair plastered to the back of his head in an anxious sweat.

It's usually then that he retreats to the safety the training facilities provide; the only place where the ache and pain he puts his body through matches the pain in his head.

 

The system they're in is much like any other, and as Ren trains, he finds himself focusing more on the stars and planets beyond the glass window than he does himself, which is why when Phasma prods him to grab his attention, he curses aloud, fingers slipping on the handle of the lat pulldown machine, sending the weights hurtling down with a crash that reverberates throughout the room.

"What?" He snaps, immediately leaning over to snatch up the towel at his side and mop up the sweat collecting at his brow.

"I did attempt to speak to you, but you didn't answer me," Phasma begins, her tone dry, "get off that. Train with me. My lieutenant isn't awake yet." She instructs, rolling her shoulders to loosen them out as she approaches the open space reserved exclusively for hand-to-hand combat. She doesn't look back to see if Kylo follows, she simply expects him to obey, and with some reluctance he does.

The captain's shoulders are bare, revealing a large purple bruise on her collar, and Ren only has a split second to wonder about it before she's on him.

Phasma fights in a way which is clean and fast and deadly. She's well practised, and in the beginning, Kylo finds himself on the backfoot, barely having enough time to defend himself from her last attack before he finds his feet swept out from underneath him, and he hits the ground hard.

"Fight back, Kylo." She orders, bouncing lightly on her toes as the knight pushes himself to his feet, breathing hard.

"I—" he hasn't the time to immediately finish what he's going to say as Phasma's fist flies straight for his face, and he's forced to throw up a forearm in order to block it. "— _can't."_ The word is spat through clenched teeth as he knocks away a blow aimed for his sternum, and only just manages to avoid the kick Phasma guides to his shin. He hasn't been trained like this; he's never had the need, and it frustrates him to no end that there's no let up; no way for him to fight back without resorting to use of the force in order to win.

"Yes you can," she replies, as the knight throws a wild punch of his own which she blocks easily. "Stop _thinking_ about hitting me, and hit me. The galaxy isn't going to fight itself for you."

"Is this really what this is about?" He demands, breaking off for a moment as he dodges the left hook aimed at his jaw and finally lands a punch of his own on her side. His victory is short lived, however, and it's only a split second later that he finds himself yet again on his back; his reaction speeds only just allowing him to roll out of the way of the kick aimed at his head with a startled exclamation of "fucking hell Phasma!"

The captain is quick to dive on this, and as she pins him face down on the training mats, she pants, twisting his arms up against his back to keep him from struggling.

"You've done nothing but train in here for weeks. You are a shell of yourself, Kylo Ren, and this ship does not need someone who lies down and accepts defeat. It needs a fighter. Do you understand?"

 "Yes, but I—" He's cut off in a hiss of pain as Phasma twists his arm up higher, eyes squeezed shut against the flare of pain cutting through his shoulder.

"No buts. You understand, or you don't." She states flatly, no hint of remorse in her voice as she reaches up with her free hand to brush her hair back from her face.

"Alright, alright! I understand." Ren replies immediately, his tone tinged with frustration as he futilely attempts to throw her off. "Will you let me go now?"

 

Phasma considers this for a moment, and she loosens her grip slightly, lips twisting with vague distaste at what she was about to suggest.

"I know you miss him—"

"—I don't." He interrupts, prompting Phasma to sigh above him before continuing on as if he hadn't said anything.

"—and I know of a programme our researchers are currently developing which would allow you to talk to him."

 

The knight seems to freeze beneath her for a moment, his entire body growing rigid and still before he begins spitting furious insults, doubling his efforts to escape from the captain's grasp. This had to be a joke. Hux was gone. He didn't want a quack psychic where he could speak to those beyond the veil.

"Pack it in and listen; it's not real. It's an AI." She explains through gritted teeth, giving Ren a firm shake to force him to pay attention to her once again. "It reads the databanks we have stored here, as well as whatever you may have yourself through comms link, that sort of thing and builds him through that."

"How do you know about this?" Ren demands, now half resigning himself to listening to exactly what it is Phasma is telling him.

"AI's creep me out. So I like to stay informed." Comes her wry response, and Ren can't help but laugh weakly, turning his head to press his forehead to the cool mat beneath him as he processes everything he's been told.

Hux. Only it won't _be_ Hux.

"I'll have a copy of the programme sent to your terminal." Phasma announces as she finally relents, and gets up off the knight; extending a hand to him to help him to his feet. "I hope it makes things easier. But don't expect me to be jumping at the chance to talk to it."

That brings another faint smile to Kylo's lips, and in an uncharacteristic display of gratitude, he reaches out and grips onto Phasma's shoulder. "Thank you."

She merely grunts in response, though her expression seems satisfied enough, and as she leans over to collect her towel and sling it around her neck, she spares him one last glance. "Don't let this get in the way of your training," she warns, rubbing the corner of the towel beneath her chin as a faint smirk twitches the corners of her lips, "—keep it up here and one day you may actually be able to beat me in a straight fight."

 

After Phasma leaves, Kylo is left once again to himself and his thoughts, and for a long time, he stands before the glass window and simply stares into the void beyond. An indistinct worry grips him, and he can't seem to convince himself to make the trip back to his quarters just yet. This is perhaps the last time he'll have to feel his grief, to truly experience the pain that it's brought.

That's what he tells himself, at least.

What he doesn't acknowledge is his fear that this programme may not work.

That it may not read Hux and show him in the exact light that he remembers; refined and stiff, but not unyielding.

There's a flicker of hope burning in the back of his head, and it's that which is hateful to him.

Hope, in his experience has only led to disappointment.

His eyes close, and for a while, he simply stands like that, allowing all the chaos in his head to rise and fall like waves upon the seashore.

Only when his mind quiets does he force himself to move, making the short trip back to his quarters somehow doubly longer by taking an alternate route through the heart of the ship.

 

The sight of his door is frightening in itself, and as he keys in the code to open it, he feels his heart leap into his mouth.

It's dark, exactly as he'd left it, but in the console set at his bedside, the terminal glows faintly, and as he steps closer, it flickers to life, opening up a new page he'd never before seen.

His towel, still damp with his own sweat, he drops into the laundry port, and with trembling hands, he edges closer still until he can make out the words onscreen.

 

_Typing..._

_Hello, Ren._


	3. You're not real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can offer are my apologies for the wait. I have an awful tendency to question the things I write, which causes delays on my end.

> _“Secrets that I have held in my heart,_
> 
> _Are harder to hide than I thought._
> 
> _Maybe I just wanna be yours,_
> 
> _I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours.”_
> 
> _— I wanna be yours, Arctic Monkeys._

 

* * *

 

The words onscreen tremble for a moment, and Ren closes his eyes against them. He had to be going crazy. That was the only explanation here.

But when he opens them again, the words are still there, and a new bubble forms just beneath it.

 

_Typing…_

_Well? Don’t just stand there gawping and wasting my time. What do you want?_

 

Shaking his head, the knight comes closer, and braces his hands against the terminal desktop, staring blankly at the messages. “This is insane.” He mutters, fingers hesitating over the glowing keypad as he tried to formulate a response. What did one say to an AI? Hello? I’m sorry you’re dead?

 

_Typing…_

_You’re not the one trapped inside an oversized data pad._

 

“You can hear me?” For the love of the Empire this was a little too much to bear, and in a moment of uncharacteristically reserved stress, he grinds the heel of his hand over his forehead with a world weary sigh.

 

_Typing…_

_Yes._

 

_Typing…_

_You sound surprised._

 

"Well, of course I am,” Ren replies a little hesitantly. It feels ridiculous to be talking to this empty space. “I mean, I'm talking to an algorithm. It's you. But it also isn't. You aren't _real._ ”

 

_Typing…_

_I know I'm not. Clearly you're having trouble processing something so fundamentally simple. Do you feel better having said it aloud?_

 

The knight pauses then; voice dying on his tongue. Did he feel better? Not particularly, no. If anything, it made him feel worse. He'd replaced the General with a machine. Not any machine; a simulation that was no more real than the idea of a perfect democracy. Hux would never be solid, or visceral; he'd never chastise and bicker with him, not truly. It brings a strange lump of emotion to his throat, and he coughs to clear it.

 

_Typing…_

_Answer me, Ren._

 

"No, I don't.” The admission is followed by an uncomfortable pause that's so intrinsically _Hux_ that Kylo’s breath is crushed from his lungs. "I need to go and shower. How do I.. turn you off?” An automatic cringe follows the question, and if Hux had really been there, Ren is almost certain he'd have laughed.

 

_Typing…_

_Just leave the system as it is. It powers down and runs in low power mode after five minutes._

 

How unnaturally simple. Stepping back, Ren continues to infrequently cast the console furtive glances as he touches a panel on the wall, and gathers up a towel from within the cupboard, but “Hux” says nothing more.

He feels an internal sense of rising hysteria, and when he finally does manage to stumble safely into the confines of the bathroom, he locks the door for added measure.

_This is fine._

It’s not at all fine, and gripping onto the glass basin, Ren stares at his reflection in the mirror. There are two bright spots burning high on his cheekbones, and his eyes are dark and bruised, the result of many sleepless nights. A wild tangle of hair frames his face thanks to his session with Phasma, and the shadows contrast strikingly with the pale pallor of his skin. The gaunt hollows of his cheeks make him appear as a shade would; lifeless and empty, devoid of any hint of light.

Turning away from the sight in disgust, Ren throws his towel over the rail set into the wall, and touches the control panel set into the wall to adjust the temperature settings and spray. A dull ache had begun to set into his shoulders from his fight with Phasma, and the more he acknowledged it, the worse it seemed to feel. The soft patter of water hitting the tiles is soothing to his nerves, however, and with it eventually came the gentle kiss of steam.

Shedding his clothing was a simple, methodical process, and the garments peel away easily, lying in a dull, crumpled heap atop the black lacquered tiles of the bathroom floor.

His reflection in the tiles comes back distorted and pale, and as he steps into the glass cubicle, his fingers drift idly over the dusting of beauty spots scattered like stars over his left side.

The injuries he'd sustained on Starkiller were mostly healed now, the raised scar tissue delicate and pink. They'd turn silver in their own time, a lasting reminder of his failure, and of the reason why the only memento he had of his general was the computer in the next room.

For the first time, he allows himself to fully feel the guilt he’s carrying, and the hot water cascades down his neck, and over the curve of his shoulders as his head tips forward, eyes squeezing shut in a pained grimace. Hux would be alive if it wasn't for him. His father would be alive if it wasn't for him- _hell_ , there would still be a flourishing race of Jedi if it wasn't for him. Everywhere he turned, regardless of his intentions, death and destruction seemed to follow, clinging to him like a shroud.

This wasn't fair, it wasn't right. What was the point in this senseless torture of himself? His fingers pause, slipping from his soaped up hair. He could always shut the system down, tell Phasma he'd _tried_ , and it simply wasn't right.

Tipping his head back, Ren lets the hot spray do his work for him, only occasionally teasing his fingers through his hair to ensure all the soap was washed away. Hux had suffered enough, and so had he. It was wrong to pervert his memory in this fashion. How many times had he threatened to replace Hux's army with clones just because he knew the general would respond with complete disgust? Was this not the same thing?

Groping blindly for the control panel, Ren knocks the water off and smoothes the water from his hair before stepping out of the cubicle and drawing his towel around his waist. It hangs heavily from his hips and when he moves to leave the bathroom, he's assumed total control of himself. The AI would go, he'd deal with himself some other way. Phasma had been right. They were weird.

When his gaze falls on his console however, he feels his resolve waver, and though he tells himself not to, he can't help but wake up the system. The glass panel pulsing in differing shades of before settling on the same screen he'd left it to power down on.

‘ _Stupid, stupid_.’ Already his fingers are hovering needlessly over the touchpad, and his chest lurches when he spots that already, the algorithm is up and running.

 

_Typing…_

_How was the shower?_

 

“Long. Wet. Why does it matter?” His tone is short, irritable even, and Ren pinches the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb with a long, drawn out sigh. “How do I close down the system?” He asks, voice considerably lower now than it had been before. “You aren't real. This isn't-”

 

_Typing…_

_Enough?_

 

_Typing…_

_Really, Lord Ren. You do disappoint me. I'd have thought it rather obvious that this isn't real. At the end of the day, what_ **_is_ ** _real? The air you breathe; synthetic. The gravity holding you down right now, also artificial. I am no more real than your gravity, and if you switch me off, I'll disappear, for a time. Until you need me again._

 

“-You aren't my gravity.” Ren hisses, fingers gripping onto the console table so hard his knuckles strain against the delicate skin of his hand and turn white. “I didn't need you then, and I don't need you now.”

 

_Typing…_

_We shall see, Kylo. I know the minds of men better than you, and I can guarantee you will be back because like it or not, you needed me for some reason. You're still yet to divulge what that is exactly, but you needed me. Or I would not be talking to you now._

  
The knight's lips harden then, and he claws at the top of the desk, ripping off the slender panel covering the main wiring leading to the console. Within an instant his fingers delve into the coiling ribbons of blue and yellow and green until they curl around the main motherboard, “you aren't talking to me. You never were.” He replies coldly, yanking out the board and bringing with it half of the wiring inside. This had been a bad idea from the offset, and with his breath coming short, he drops the green board to the floor and kicks it away, out of sight. Hux would have had a fit if he could see the damage. But he couldn't. And that was the most important thing Ren had to remember if he was to keep his sanity, and leave what little dignity he had left intact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can reach me on twitter at submissivekylo, and similarly on tumblr, at the same url.
> 
> ((I'm thinking about adopting a beta to ocassionally glance over what I've got written not only for this, but for another two separate things I have planned. So, if you're interested, please do get in touch via twitter/tumblr.))

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for patiently reading through this first chapter!  
> You can shout or discuss this with me over here;  
> https://twitter.com/SubmissiveKylo
> 
> Or, here;  
> http://submissivekylo.tumblr.com/  
> And as a side note, I'd like to add this is completely the fault of Kylux Sin Central for flooding my DM's and timeline with this talk. So, congratulations.  
> The next chapter will be up (hopefully) sometime in the next week.


End file.
